“She shouldn’t have married him,” said Sallie. “Though I believe she only did it to get away from her father. If people are mad enough to bind themselves by those preposterous vows, what can you expect?”
“Preposterous vows?” said Christopher, surprised.
“Don’t you call the marriage service preposterous?” returned Sallie, equally surprised.
“No,” said Christopher, stoutly, “I don’t. I suppose I am old-fashioned. I like the Prayer Book, and songs with tunes to them, and pictures that tell a story you can understand, and—and Christmas carols.”
“Well done!” said I.
“Talking about songs with tunes,” Mary asked, “what did you think of Mrs. Harter, Miles?”
“I agree with you that, as an unusual type of person, she’s interesting.”
“Her choice of songs was interesting, too—that atrocity about cabbage roses—I beg your pardon, Christopher!—and then ‘the Bluebells of Scotland.’ The first one was so exactly what one would have expected, and the second one so exactly what one wouldn’t have expected,” said Sallie.
“I like the good old ‘Bluebells of Scotland,’” Christopher said. “We must make her sing it again when we go to Mrs. Fazackerly’s house.”
I was glad that he seemed to be looking forward to that pleasantly.